Mena spun around and glared at Durham. It seemed he was always sprouting out of nowhere. Never mind how softly he'd spoken or that he stood at least three feet away, his hands at his back. He wore a beguiling expression that only made her anger grow. His back was to the sun, which gave him a soft halo and darkened his refined features.
Her anger was tempered when he walked past her to stand closer to the cow parsley. In the back of Wardington's garden, after one went through a series of high hedges, along a wall of trees and farther onto the black gates, grew the white flowers in a wild and unorganized fashion. The parsley grew in large bundles with dozens of small white petals and Mena had never seen anything like it before.
"They grow abundantly in the country," the marquess told her, which made Mena realize she'd spoken aloud.
Mena looked around for Bradley but found the boy was gone. Most likely Durham had sent him away.
Thoughts of the young earl vanished when Durham turned to look at her.
Facing the sun made the golden ring around his pupils more prominent. "They grow in the fields by the Durham estate." He grinned, and Mena knew what statement he'd left unsaid. If she married him, she'd have a cow parsley field of her own. He turned back to the flowers and said, "Guests usually enjoy the rose beds or the primrose. Why does the cow parsley intrigue you?"
"Why do you care?"
Instead of backing away as she'd wished, he stepped toward her and touched her arm lightly. "Because, I want to know everything about you."
She was beginning to grow used to her stomach being unsettled around him. She'd have much preferred an old marquess as opposed to the virile man who stood before her. Or even a comely sort of gentleman would have been harder to resist, but when Durham looked at her with never-ending tenderness, her heart began to dance in her chest, that part of her that yearned for this show of kindness, for someone to want to know everything about her. She had to find a way to distract her thoughts from her body's response. "Why not just marry someone else? You've already told me that you didn't ask for my hand. I was your mother's idea. Surely, there's a woman who would fit you better."
His lips rose on one side. Never was there a more roguish look. "But how am I to know that if I don't know you?"
He had a point. How was he to know they would not suit if he knew nothing about her?
"I like how untamed they are," she finally said. "There is beauty in their freedom to grow as they wish."
"You've not had much of that, have you?" he asked.
She looked away. "Ladies are not given such privileges. I was tutored at home and kept close to my father before he died. Then I went to a school for girls in Germany." And now, she had Mrs. Gale.
"I had a strict upcoming as well," he told her. "My mother likes to have things her way."
She looked at him again and noticed some of the light had left his eyes. His lips were pressed firmly together. He fought a grimace and failed. The marchioness had chosen his wife. Mena couldn't imagine what other choices she'd made for him as well. She knew that it was usually a man's lot in life to do as he pleased, but from what she could see, that had not been Morgan's upbringing.
She thought it not a far-off guess to believe that Morgan didn't like his mother very much. Perhaps that was the way to get him to see reason. "Your mother chose me as your wife. Surely, you resent her choice?"
Immediately, his brows relaxed, and he smiled once more. Mena feared what he'd say next.
His voice was smooth as the day was warm and his hand trailed down her arm to grab her elbow. "I believe that if this is where my life has led me, then it might all be worth it." He took her hand and placed it on his arm before he started walking.
Mena's legs were forced to move, though she was still slightly surprised by his words. "You're quite charming when you wish to be."
"So are you," he said in what sounded like an accusation.
"What does that mean?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. I'm simply being petty."
"What about?" she pressed and instinctively her fingers did the same to his arm.
He glanced in her direction and then straight ahead once more. "About you and how you seem to favor every man you meet but me."
She turned away. "You never gave me a chance to like you."
He touched where her hand rested. "I know, and I'm trying to remedy that."
"You won't succeed."
She was caught off guard when he pulled her behind a tree and backed her into the gate. Her back hit the cool metal, and his body caged her in without touching her, his arms surrounding her head while his face lay close to hers.
"I think I can," he whispered.
Mena's entire body caught flame, and she buried her face in her hands. She closed her eyes, but that only heightened her other senses. He didn't touch her, but the air around her vibrated and was scented with his large presence. The garden faded away until there was nothing but him. She shivered and wished it was with fright. "Do you wish to scare me at every turn?"
"You don't fear me," he declared.
He was right. She didn't fear him. Not at the moment. Not when his eyes promised no hint of pain and every bit of something she didn't dare to guess at. She must have gone mad. He was dangerous. She had to remember that.
"Look at me, Mena."
She lifted her eyes and peeked through her fingers to find his brown eyes watching her closely. She couldn't recall a man ever staring so intently at her. He took one of her hands, and she gazed wide-eyed as he removed her glove. "What are you doing?" she whispered. She wasn't supposed to remove her glove. She gasped when the air touched her fingers right before he pressed them against his mouth. She watched, stunned, as he ensured that not one inch of her fingers went unclaimed by his soft lips. She grabbed hold of the gate with her other hand for fear she'd melt into a puddle at his feet.
His eyes seemed as dazed as she felt. "As my wife, you will feel like the most cherished woman in London. Isn't that what you want?"
Yes, her body cried. Her eyes slowly moved to where his mouth pressed against her palm and then the pulsing vein over her wrist. Everywhere he touched seemed to be connected with the rest of her, making her entire being flutter with something strange and dark. A need she didn't understand. "I'll not marry you." Even to her own ears, the words lacked their previous conviction.
He smiled. "Then I'll give you something better."
She didn't know what could be better than this.